It is 8:32 p.m. on a Wednesday night, so I have been working for 13 hours.
13 hours of work today and another 13 tomorrow, I’m sure. My hourly wage would be dismal if I had one. I never worked this much when I had a 9-5. I would have been livid if I’d had to keep these hours. I would have bitched and stomped down the hallways and called my manager names.
But here, now, I do not stomp and moan. Even though I do not know if I will reap the benefits of this work. Even though I’m barely scraping by.
I feel like I am blazing, like my fingertips and my toes and the top of my head are on fire. I am writing in the margins, people, filling journals with tornados of thought, burying the white page with the dust storm of my pen.
I am creating and I am being created.
I cannot walk down the road without stopping to write in the notebook I keep in my pocket or, failing pockets, tucked under my arm like an umbrella waiting for rain. It is maddening in the best possible way. The days have never felt shorter. I think to myself, is it time to sleep already? But I still have this to do. And this! And this!
It is important to do what you love. Because if you give this much to something you do not love completely, it will leave you empty and withered and angry, it will strip you bare. But if you give yourself to the thing you love the most, it will fill you full of life. It will pump you up like a balloon and you will grow bigger and bigger and bigger and then you will burst in an explosion of energy and color. You will expand. You will fill the kitchen and leak into the hallway. You will overgrow your office chair. And when you die they will hire a crane to lift you out of the house. You will be so big because every day you gobbled life and every morning you woke up hungry for more.
It is important to do what you love. If you do not feel this way about life, keep searching.